Rebel Girl
by Polly Oliver
Summary: Madge x Katniss. From a prompt THG Fic Prompt Meme.


Madge/Katniss

_When she talks, I hear the revolution / In her hips, there's revolution_

"Rebel Girl"

She's a friend of mine. Kind of special. She's perceptive and she's not: the Capitol is terrified of her, but I've never had to hide my feelings for her because she's never noticed them. Not even when I gave her a gold mockingjay pin to take with her to the Games…in remembrance. Of my mother's friend, of home, of me.

Of course, it was also a symbol of defiance. Badge worn by a dead Tribute, in the form of creatures the Capitol never expected to create. Birds whose voices inspire pleasure rather than causing ruin. The Mockingjay. I set her in motion. Her status as the leader of the revolution is my fault. She can't live as she wishes, forget the Games, move on…because of me.

It was unselfish, though. I knew she'd never have me, but she might take Panem.

I sneak up to the rooms she shares with Johanna one night. I scratch at the door, and Johanna answers. I don't know her very well, but she looks ragged. Her skin is grayish, her eyes haunted, and her nails are bitten to the quick.

"She's asleep," says Johanna. I nod, frowning. _Too bad_. But then Johanna says, "I'll wake her," and I can feel myself light up; it's completely ridiculous, the smile that creeps on to my face unbidden. Johanna turns away from me in embarrassment, gesturing for me to follow her in. I do.

The Games were awful for me to watch. Awful for everyone. Awful for Prim, and for her poor mother. The most awful, we liked to think, for Gale and me.

We didn't just watch her face death time and again. We watched her fall in love.

Gale would be jealous if he knew I was here. But he's been oblivious, training and inventing, and barely notices anything anymore. I wonder if he even realizes how much more beautiful Katniss is every minute she becomes more and more the Mockingjay. I wonder, as I stand awkwardly behind Johanna at the door of Katniss's room, if he still feels the same. Seeing Katniss awaking gently from sleep at the sound of Johanna's voice, I wonder how he could not.

Katniss's skin. Her grey eyes. Her hair, the line of her neck, her archer's arms and fingers, the flat line of her mouth when she is concentrating, when she is displeased, when she remembers the dead: all are beautiful. Even her scars are beautiful. Especially her scars.

"I should tell you something," I say carefully. "It's not a claim I am making; and I'm not asking anything from you. It's just that, you should know…you should know who loves you." I pause. She leans toward me, and I smell her hair as it sways around her face. She has her serious expression on, like she's trying to figure something out. I almost lose my train of thought.

"I love you, Katniss. Since we were kids. You have always been so strong…Don't look like that. I'm not saying this to flatter your ego. I'm saying this because, and I know you don't like being everyone's hero, but you're mine, my hero, and—of all the people I know, you're the only one I would choose to be the Mockingjay. Because you're not _just_ strong, you're good. And no one who was only one or the other could possibly lead us, and you're the—" I swallowed my words. "What I mean is, Katniss, I love you. That's all. Take it with you like a charm and keep it in your pocket. It's a trinket that's always been yours anyway."

I haven't been looking at her, afraid of what I might see in her eyes, but she ducks her head and draws my gaze up with hers, like a magnet draws iron filings. I am so lost.

She grins a bit, self-consciously, and tugs at her hair. "I…love you, too, Madge," she says, the words drawing out of her slowly, reluctantly.

"You don't," I say, smiling.

"I do," she counters. "Only…maybe not the same as you. Not…yet."

"What?" is all I can say. Surely she means _as friends_, and my entire speech has been slightly, but essentially, misunderstood. Perceptive and not, I said.

But no, she's stroking my cheek now, and leaning in, and kissing me, and…pinning my wrists to the bed, and this isn't happening, it can't be happening, this is a wonderful dream and in a minute I will wake up. No, I feel our tongues sliding together, her thigh brush against mine, that nip on my collarbone, oh. It's real.

I fall asleep in her bed later that night, happy, loved.


End file.
